


THE ODYSSEY GALA

by kaiayame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Action/Adventure, Balcony Scene, Ballroom Dancing, Danger, Dress Up, Emotions, Fancy Outfits, Flirting, Formalwear, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, My First Fanfic, Other, Paladins, Romance, Social Anxiety, Team Bonding, Tropes, and also, anyway writing is a lot harder than drawing let me tell you, but yeah the gangs all here, klance, like a little bit of early klance, well except for shiro i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:18:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiayame/pseuds/kaiayame
Summary: ✧✧✧The team was on a highly classified, highly personal mission: infiltrate the biggest intergalactic gala in the universe without drawing too much attention to themselves in order to find a mysterious informant. An informant with possible insight into the whereabouts of their lost leader, Shiro.i.e., if they didn’t want to give me a formalwear episode, fine I will just MAKE ONE MYSELF.





	THE ODYSSEY GALA

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, a voltron side mission that occurs during the midst of season three after the team has lost Shiro. Specifically, right after episode 3 and before episode 4. Keith has taken charge as the new black paladin, and they’ve just escaped their first encounter with Lotor, but have not yet experienced the plot points of meeting Slav and Sven and the Alteans from another reality’s timeline and whatnot.

✧

 

All weapons had to be checked even before they passed through the main gates. 

The team was on a highly classified, highly personal mission: infiltrate the biggest intergalactic gala in the universe without drawing too much attention to themselves in order to find a mysterious informant. An informant with possible insight into the whereabouts of their lost leader, Shiro. And besides Hunk’s minor wardrobe malfunction revolving around his refusal to remove his well-worn, sweat-soaked orange headband, everything was going as planned; everyone was staying under the radar.

Security was tight. And, while dressed to the nines, the group of young paladins had decided to make their way into the event together, only to then disperse themselves amongst the guests once the gala had been properly infiltrated. Sharing a hovering coach carriage that was being pulled by a set of burly alien ox-like creatures, they’d just been thoroughly scanned, searched and forced to leave their bayards and Keith’s knife behind with the intimidating set of guards that was monitoring the sole entrance to the grounds. 

The Odyssey Gala, as it was formally called, posed itself as an apparent neutral zone, where different high-ranking members of various societies from all corners of the universe were openly invited, acting as representatives who were meant to converse on inter-planetary matters in order to share knowledge and encourage mutually beneficial communal progress in an effort to better the home galaxies of everyone in attendance and beyond. 

At this point, of course, that was merely a facade. A rosy, easy, romantic narrative from a time long ago when peace was more familiar, and what was now instead more akin to a mislabeled package that no one felt like correcting. What existed past the fraud and inside the box was an exorbitantly giant, ridiculously over-the-top party thrown for those in line with the higher-ups in the Galra Empire. From fat cat politicians and coveted weapons dealers, to black market peddlers and counterfeit royals who were purely operating as glorified figureheads, they all jumped at the chance to parade around one another in their glamorous attire. And while their fingers were clad in sparkling jewels, absolutely none of their hands were clean. Each and every one of them was making some kind of personal profit or another by continuing their close but usually subtle ties with the Galra, more than happy to bask in their graces and spend the night drowning themselves in extravagance. 

The six members of the team stayed closely pressed together in their carriage — Allura, Coran, and Pidge nestled on one side of the coach, Keith, Lance and Hunk on the other. The early evening air was crisp and cool; a sharp twilight that resonated perfectly for a night of frolicking and festivities. Their time allotted for prep work for this particular mission had been less than ideal, but the rampant whisper of a rumored bounty on anyone who could reveal Shiro’s location had dug up a promising and unexpected lead. Somewhere in this gala was someone who might know how to find out if Shiro was still out there. And they had all came to the agreement that it was too tempting a possibility to ignore. 

However confident the lead, though, Keith had told the group not to stay too hopeful. And he’d told himself the same thing at least a hundred more times in private. He was curbing his expectations more than anyone’s, while trying his hardest not to let it show. 

But even as they headed closer into the fray — the uproar of celebratory chatter and sounds of an orchestra strumming away at their strings already reaching them as their coach curved around a fountain and approached the front steps — the group’s mood wasn’t entirely morose. Or melancholy. Or even hopeless. Rather, the tension between them bounced from a mission-based, focused mentality to one of innocent, rambunctious excitement. The front exterior of the gala’s palace twinkled ahead, bustling with warm colors and bright, sparkling lights, towering over the manicured landscape and coaxing all of those nearby to enter. 

And so while they weren’t exactly counting their blessings quite yet, things weren’t looking too dismal either. They were lucky so far, in fact. No one had even come close to recognizing them as the paladins of Voltron, even when they’d been forced to relinquish their personalized bayards. And the actual possibility of a somewhat enjoyable evening was still very much so within reach.

But luck, as always, has a tendency to run out.

 

✧

 

“Coran?!?” 

Allura’s voice rang throughout the castle’s hallways, echoing off the sleek, shiny metal walls as she hurried along its corridors. Carrying a small mountain of decadent fabrics, she made her way quickly but wobbly, perilously teetering on the soles of her feet every half a dozen steps or so. 

“Coran?! Where are you?” she called out again, diligently scooting along as her vision was blocked by the vibrant assortment of accessories and garments piled in between her arms. 

A nearby panel whooshed open, halting her abruptly in her tracks, and the friendly, eager face of her Altean friend and guardian poked itself out of the door frame. 

“Princess!” Coran was fervent, full of raw exhilaration, his mustache bristling with a manic energy. “How goes finding suitable formalwear attire for the crew?” 

Allura veered towards the sound of his voice, straining to maneuver herself into the room from which Coran was speaking, proudly dropping the heap of clothing onto a nearby tabletop and letting out a sigh of relief. Her hip relaxed and she leaned to the side while she wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. 

“These are all of the old pieces of Altean pageantry items and gifted articles from visiting dignitaries I could find that would still be considered at least somewhat presentable today.” Allura huffed and puffed between words, both hands relocated and placed on her hips as she shifted her weight to her other side and quickly summoned back her stately demeanor. “I believe they will provide adequate cover for tonight’s gala so long as we can properly match them to each of the other four paladins.”

“Fair work, Princess!” Coran was gleaming, already shuffling and sorting through the selections and tossing them about over his shoulders, creating a tornado of flying fabrics. 

“Thank you, Coran!” Allura twinkled with pride, happy to have gotten the chance to raid all the various closets and revisit the castle’s collection of old formalwear that her family had gathered from their travels over the years. “Something will have to do. We certainly don’t have time to go out and shop. If this lead regarding the whereabouts of Shiro proves true, we will want to take full advantage of—“

She was interrupted as the door flung open behind her. 

“Hey, Allura, what kind of food do they serve at this thing?” Hunk, the yellow paladin, asked while thoughtfully pinching the curve of his chin. “I’m wondering if I should have us eat beforehand. Or maybe sneak in some snacks? PB and J's, perhaps? Or I can whip something tasty up and prep dinner now before we get ready…”

“Oh, no, there will be a whole feast! There’s no need to—“ She was cut off as the door burst open again.

“Hey, what’s this shindig called again, Allura?” Lance, now the red paladin, slinked into the room, his gaze already taking a greedy peek at all the fancy garments Coran was still sorting through. 

“The Odyssey Gala.” Allura replied. “It has been around since before I was even born. I cannot believe it is still taking place! I remember when I was little—“

“Sweet! I’ve always wanted to show up at a ridiculously fancy space party at some random rich dude’s mansion. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to practice my charm on the ladies.” Lance paused to run his fingers through his hair. “It’s been far too long since I whipped out my lover boy Lance routine. Wouldn’t want to get rusty.” Lance shot a cheeky wink and smile combo at Allura, who responded with a practiced, exasperated eye roll. 

Before she could make a condemnatory comment, the door to the room slid open once again, and another, much smaller, paladin appeared. 

“Lance, you literally just flirted up a storm with all three of the daughters of that merchant we resupplied from two days ago.” Pidge, the green paladin, adjusted her round-rimmed glasses, her voice sharp and her eyes squinted through the judgmental expression resting upon her face; a special look crafted exclusively for Lance. 

“Meh. It only counts as once when it’s all at the same time.”

“LANCE! NO IT DOES—“

Pidge’s angry response was interrupted by the whoosh of the door sliding open one more time. 

“Are these the clothes we have to wear?” Yet another voice chimed in, less enthusiastic than the others’ had been. Keith, the newly appointed black paladin, lingered just outside the crowded room while the rest of the crew turned to look at him.

“Yes, indeed!” Coran snapped back, the mountain of clothes now rapidly transforming into an expanded valley of rolling hills, spread out across the room behind him as he tossed more and more articles over his shoulders. “And I am at this very moment meticulously determining the appropriate attire for each of you! Now if you don’t mind, please, everyone get back to your rooms and begin preparing. I will bring the proper outfits to your individual domiciles as soon as I’ve perfectly… matched up… each of the... most fashionable pieces…” Coran poured over the piles of apparel like an inspector trying to investigate a crime scene, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. 

Allura’s face broke into an entreating smile aimed at the other paladins and hurriedly waved them back out of the room, following closely behind their trail. 

“Oh, and Princess—” Coran called after her. Allura’s head spun just as she was approaching the door frame. 

“I’ve already placed a suggestion for this evening in your chambers.” Coran’s voice was a bit softer as he spoke, laced with his signature warmth. He didn’t look up, his eyes still locked on and scrutinizing the heaps of clothes.

“Thank you, Coran. That’s very kind.” 

And with that, she smiled and departed, making her way to her bedroom while the other paladins were already headed towards their own. 

The group’s spirits hadn’t been this high in ages, especially since they’d lost their leader, Shiro. And even more recently, had also just barely made it through their first unfortunate encounter with the notorious Galra prince, Lotor. With Keith as the new leader, the team was doing their best to regroup and strengthen their moral. But it hadn’t been easy so far, and each of their hearts had seemed to weigh a bit more in their chests lately. The timing of this intel lead couldn’t have been better. And while not everyone was necessarily hurtling towards the prospect of attending a raunchy, packed and debonair party, no one would risk losing the happier, more positive momentum they’d come across by saying so.  

Instead, they were all quite literally putting their best-dressed foot forward.

 

✧

 

Upon reaching her spacious bedroom, Allura took a deep breath after closing the door behind her, allowing her eyes to relax and close for a moment. The evening presented an especially unique chance of lifting her mood. The thought of engaging with something so familiar filled her with a kind of nervous bliss. The Odyssey Gala had been a treasured occasion for her and her family; a place where many of her most beloved childhood memories resided. To be able to return to it with her fellow paladins made her simultaneously glow with joy… and also twitch with anxiety. 

Lost in thought over how the occasion would go, she opened her eyes and looked across the room. Her heart skipped a beat and her hand rested against her chest as she took in what was before her. Frozen with emotion, she required a few extra beats to reconcile with exactly what she was seeing. 

The garment Coran had hung up for her was from another time, a remnant of her past, floating next to her vanity, dangling off its sturdy hanger that he’d rested upon a wall hook. Allura recognized the sparkling, rich fabric all at once, and a wave of deep sentiment crashed through her. It had been one of her mother’s favorite ensembles. Allura used to fawn over it as a child. She could recall the feeling of her tiny fingers tracing themselves along the ornate layers of radiant silk, clutching at the decadent trim that was lining the edges as her mother drifted through crowds of visiting royals and esteemed guests, young Allura by her side. 

She brought herself towards the gorgeous dress slowly, feet gliding across her floor, eventually reaching her vanity and resting herself down on the cushy stool. She extended her hand out with hesitation, a part of her afraid that touching the fabric would somehow make it dissolve, like a dream you cling to when you’re not yet ready to wake up. Ever so gently, she ran some of the colorful fabric against her finger tips. It was as soft and elegant as she remembered, and she lingered in a bittersweet awe… 

When her trance broke, Allura couldn’t wipe the sudden smile off her face if she tried.

She turned away cheerfully towards her mirror and began to softly drag a heavy brush through her wavy locks of bright white hair, basking in the prospect of finally getting to wear her mother’s dress and humming a blithe tune to herself to celebrate. 

She was diligently running through as many of the traditional dance sequences she could remember in her head when there was a knock at her door.

“Come in!” she replied, flinging the words over her shoulder. 

The panel door shifted, and Pidge casually wandered her way inside, donned in her comfy green robe and lion slippers. 

“Hey, Allura, can I borrow a hair clip or something?” Pidge asked as she plopped herself down onto the end of Allura’s bed, stretching out her limbs while she laid back on the fluffy covers and got herself in quite the comfortable spot. “I’ve never had to style my hair this much since cutting it off. Not quite sure what to do with it…” Her tone wasn’t upset. It was merely factual, pragmatic. 

“Of course! Did Coran give you the dress I picked out yet? I hope you don’t mind the suggestion.…” 

Pidge exhaled a large sigh and sat herself back up, lazily leaning her head to one side, propped up by her arms locking into place behind her.

“No, I don’t mind dresses every once in a while. Plus, it might help us get noticed less.” Pidge pushed her upper half more forward and clicked her tongue, pointing both thumbs straight at herself as she cocked a cheeky grin. “If you recall, most of the universe doesn’t realize yet that the green paladin is actually a pretty rocking chick.” 

Allura laughed, grinning at Pidge through the reflection in her mirror. “You sound like Lance!” 

“ _Blegh_ , please never say that again.” Pidge stuck her tongue out in mock disgust. 

“But I must say, I do appreciate your creative approach in remaining undercover…” Allura’s face moved closer to the glass surface before her as she assessed her features in more detail. “Perhaps I should make an effort to cover up my ears and markings.” Allura’s hand wandered over to a sheer piece of fabric bundled amongst her mother's ensemble hanging next to her. She held it up to her face like a veil, admiring her reflection.

“This could be quite lovely. I used to see members of the Altean court adorned in similar attire from time to time.” Allura contemplated and then released the delicate fabric, resuming the brushing her hair, tugging her way through an especially dense tangle. “Did your home planet ever host intergalactic summits?”  

“Pshh, no way.” Pidge flopped back onto Allura’s bed covers again, spreading her arms open wide as her lion slippers dangled off the ends of her feet.

“The Garrison used to have school dances every year, though. Matt would drag me along. Some girls wore the poofiest, silliest looking dresses.” Pidge laughed, an especially awful recollection of a stuck up girl in a neon yellow and pink cupcake gown coming to mind. “Never understood what was so great about them. Dances always seemed pretty pointless if you ask me. Bunch of dumb people just standing around, swaying to bad music, and doing… whatever.”

“Nonsense! The Odyssey Gala is _the_ event of the deca-phoeb. I honestly cannot believe it is still going on after all this time!! High Chancellor Rangor hosts the event at his palace. The residence is five _times_ the size of the Castle of Lions, if you can even imagine! I used to despise going because I was ever so terrible at dancing until father finally taught me the proper steps. I can teach them to you if you need assistance! But there’s not just dancing, of course. There’s hundreds of tables of food from all across the universe! The Uballi will bring plates of bongorgan, a delicacy on their planet, and I always eat far too many servings till I almost get sick! My friend Marielle always teases me about it. And all the Altean children will play games with the Puigians, and mother pretends not to fuss over concerns of vanity, but it’s my job to tell her if her hair falls out of place tonight and if—“

Allura came to a halt and froze mid brush stroke. She locked onto her own vibrant set of eyes in the mirror’s reflection. But she wasn’t staring at herself anymore. Not really. The mirror had become a portal. Her current self had gotten far, far away from where she was. Her mind had settled so easily back into her past memories that it had left this reality behind. Her brow dropped as she continued to stare, unable to look away, lost in the suspension and dissonance that she’d accidentally thrust herself into. The mirror stayed intact, but the world around it seemed to crack a little. 

A gentle hand on her shoulder banished the fissures in time and brought her back into herself. She blinked a bit, once again feeling the weight of her own body sitting a tad too upright at her royal powder table, in her same old room, over ten thousand years later than where she’d just been. Her own hand that was still holding the brush fell delicately into her lap. 

“We’d better hurry, princess.” Coran’s voice cut through the haze, filling the cold silence with his unwavering compassion. The invisible tie that forever bound them trembled with tension as his palm gripped her shoulder a little tighter. “We don’t want to keep the others waiting too long.” 

A heavy pause hung around them. Pidge had sat back up, her eyes filled with uncertainty, darting back and forth between the two Alteans as she stayed propped on the edge of Allura’s bed, keeping her body very still and urging herself to remain quiet until the moment either escalated or passed...

Allura’s eyelashes fluttered more fervently, swallowing the threatening momentum that had built itself up like a small explosion wanting to burst inside her chest.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She said, folding into her usual state of regal composure. As he stood beside her, Coran’s heart resonated not with pity, but with love and pride. Another part of him hoped that someday he’d finally figure out the right words to explain to Allura how much respect he had for her strength. 

But that would have to wait. Allura stood in earnest, clanking the hair brush on her vanity table and clearing her throat, cutting the misstep to its core until the strain had completely disappeared from the room. A quick, almost unnoticeable swipe of her fingertips to her cheek smothered any trace of tears teetering at the corners of her eyes, and both she and Coran broke into a rushed pace while headed for the exit. 

“Hey, Allura,” Pidge piped up just before Allura made it out of the room, making her come to an abrupt stop, pivoting back towards her. 

“Yes, Pidge?” she replied. 

“It… it sounds like it will be really fun.”

A small smile of sympathy rested on Pidge’s face. Her words of kindness pulled at Allura’s heartstrings, and she softened, returning the smile in a silent exchange of gratitude, her spirit back on the upswing. Without another word, Pidge pushed herself off the bed, snatched a few fancy hair accessories from the nearby nightstand, and promptly followed the two Alteans as they made their way towards the main common area in order to start handing out the attire to the other paladins.

 

✧

 

“Hunk, for the last time, that headband is NOT up to Odyssey Gala formalwear standards! And Keith, take this tie, it matches perfectly with the jacket you have in your hands already. Pidge, your sleeve is missing a button! We’ll have to sew another one on. And yes, Lance, you HAVE to wear a shirt under that tux. Chop chop, everyone!” Coran’s words fired out in a blur as he careened from room to room, throwing a variety of posh items into the paladins’ arms as they stood at attention inside each of their chambers. 

After the final piece of his assigned getup was pretty much cannonballed into his awaiting clutches, Lance immediately pivoted and whooshed his door shut, slipping his giant pair of headphones over his ears. Prepping for a formal event was one of his specialities, and he had a strict routine set in place, a routine where not half a second could be wasted. After hanging his sleek and classy-looking garments in his closet, Lance planted his slipper-clad feet on the floor, stretched out his long arms, cracked his knuckles, and threw himself into his process.

A light blue, sweetly fragrant cream was the first step, strategically smeared across the slender curves of Lance’s face, and he was just about to finish the final touches, inspecting the mask’s coverage in a small mirror in his room. His concentration was so focused that it took a few incessant series of increasingly harder knocks to finally get him to notice the intrusion of sound, break away from his headphones, and open his door. 

“Geez, what do you—“ An upbeat pop tune could be heard blasting from the twin speakers resting around his neck. He paused the music when he saw it was none other than Keith standing there, a trademark scowl plastered across his newfound leader’s face. Keith’s body language was awkwardly tense, and he fidgeted a bit, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, where to look, or how to place his feet on the hallway floor beneath him. 

“Oh, I didn’t expect it to be you.” Lance said, shifting into a less aggravated expression. “I thought maybe Coran had more…”

Keith was already almost all the way dressed, just a few buttons near the collar of his dress shirt were undone. He lingered for another moment without saying anything, and then promptly pushed his way into Lance’s room, quickly closing the door shut behind them. 

“Hey, what gives?!?” Lance blundered, stumbling backwards over his set of blue lion slippers, ones that, like Pidge’s, matched his own personal paladin robe that he currently had wrapped around him. 

The two stayed stationed on opposite sides of the confined space, the air growing thicker with a sense of confusion, annoyance, and anticipation. Worries concerning his routine being disrupted burned at the edges of Lance’s nerves, but he convinced himself to hold back on it for a bit longer, waiting for Keith to say something, anything…

But Keith remained utterly silent, resting his head downwards, choosing to stare intently at a very specific, very tiny speck of dust on the floor, almost as if it contained the answers to every possible secret the universe could hold, his fists clutched at his sides.

Finally, his voice began to wade its way through the tension, rolling out of him in a tentative sort of rumble. 

“I don’t… know… how to do this.” Every word was a struggle for Keith, like he had to yank them out of his own throat.

Lance could feel himself shift into a sense of ease. He thought this might happen. He relaxed his stance, sucking in a single calming breath before responding. 

“Aww, man. Listen, we talked about this. I know it’s hard that Shiro’s gone, but it’s gonna be ok. We all respect you as the new leader. It’ll all get better with time, try not to worry so much. You _can_ do this.” 

Lance’s sympathetic reply shook Keith from his ridiculously pointed infatuation with the god-like floor speck. He looked up at Lance, blinked hard a few times, the tension in his own muscles breaking loose as his eyebrows arched in a lapse of rigidity. 

“What?” He asked, more than obviously caught off guard. “No! No, no, no. Not that!” He sizzled, cheeks beginning to burn an embarrassing shade of pink. He held out one of his clenched fists and instantly looked back towards the floor. Lance, swimming in his own mixture of curiosity and bafflement, suddenly noticed that Keith was actually holding on tight to the crumpled up red tie Coran had thrown at him earlier. Lance’s eyes focused in on the slender piece of fabric, and after a couple of seconds, the cogs in his brain slowed down and clicked into place.

“Oh! You don’t… know… how to………… tie a tie?”

Waves of distressed heat seemed to be radiating off of Keith and bouncing against the walls, and the paladin was now firmly clenching his jaw while maintaining an unspoken, somewhat pleading look with the tiles beneath his feet. Lance wasn’t picking up the exact extent of his leader’s tormented state yet, but tried to keep his head above water nonetheless. 

“Didn’t, like, Shiro ever show you how?”

“It never came up! I haven’t had to wear one since I—“ Keith immediately stopped talking again and bit his tongue. A very unwanted memory wavered at the edge of his mind, threatening to infiltrate his head. He was small. Very small. A tiny black tie was being looped around the white collar of his wrinkled shirt by a stranger; a quiet man who would turn out to be the funeral director. It was an intimate moment of compassion in young Keith’s life that seemed to stick out more so than any other part of his dad’s service for some reason. He pushed the memory away. Keith never let himself wallow. There wasn’t any point.

“Since I… was a kid,” he finished, returning his gaze to the precious, most profound speck in the world. He hoped Lance didn’t notice the unintentional bought of hesitation too much. 

The tie still hung limply in Keith’s dramatically outstretched grip. Lance shrugged up his shoulders, opening his palms out in a gesture of ignorance and defeat.

“Well, I’m not sure either, man.”

“ _What?_ How??” Keith’s eyes ripped away from floor again, wide and brimming with a frantic sort of panic. 

“My mom always let me wear those clip-on ties.” Lance kept his tone light, waiting to see if he could figure out where this random energy of Keith’s was truly coming from, and how to deal with it. Plus, he wasn’t about to apologize for the invention of clip-on ties.

Keith tapped his foot against the hard floor, his embarrassment over the situation spiking. 

“But I have to wear it! Coran said it’s like, essential to the complete look or… or pertinent to the full ensemble or… something.” 

Lance quietly reached for the tie, wrenching it from Keith’s taut grip, holding it limply in his own hands, studying the accessory as his gaze jumped back and forth from it to the emotionally spiraling paladin. 

“Everything about this needs to go well!” Keith’s voice was starting to buckle with stress, and Lance could tell he was hating every minute of this. “If Coran says I have to wear it to blend it, I have to wear it. I just have to. I can’t admit that I don’t even know how to tie this stupid shit. I can’t prove that I don’t know how to do yet another thing. I can’t have another screw up so close to what happened with Lotor…” 

There it was. Keith compressed himself into his default crossed-arms position, but a rampant kind of anxiety bristled all around him like a live wire. Even this small amount of vulnerability made him feel unhinged. Lance looked him up and down, assessing his harrowed demeanor, finally coming to an understanding and calculating the right way to respond. It took him a few extra seconds, and the pressure in Keith’s head was visibly mounting to a treacherous brink.

“You know what,” Lance said, slicing through the fog that was about to consume the black paladin. “Forget the tie.” He tossed the thin strip of red fabric onto his cluttered, unmade bed. “Your look is better without it, anyway.” 

The simple retort washed over Keith, a raft leading his crumbling mentality back to shore. He was able to leave the exquisite speck of dust again and drag his eyes back off of the floor, tentatively peering over at Lance. 

“Really?” Nothing about Keith’s voice indicated that he actually had much interest in how he was dressed. But Lance was on the same page now. The same sentence, even. They were getting better at reading between each others’ lines. He strode over to Keith and playfully punched his shoulder.

“Yeah, man. Much more, you know… like, classier. I’m pretty sure they’re out of fashion these days, anyway. Coran needs to freshen up on his taste. He’s about ten thousand years behind, remember?” 

The mood lifted, the pressure escaping the room. A lightness entered into Keith’s body language, matching Lance’s own. 

“It’s gonna be fine…… And..... it’s worth the risk.” Lance realized his inadvertent mistake, and tried to walk what he said back a bit. “You know… the, umm, the fashion risk.”

Keith granted Lance a slight but ultimately grateful smile. 

“Thanks, Lance.” 

Another hesitation wafted between them, different than before; one that both were unable to really contextualize for themselves. A kind of reserved heat that neither knew how to recognize yet, to become familiar with, or pull past the surface and into full existence. 

Lance was the first one to swat it away. 

“Now hold still,” Lance said as he snatched the jar of blue cream off his nearby dresser, scooping a generous amount of it out with the tips of his fingers and targeting Keith with a fierce hunter’s gaze. “You’re in desperate need of some proper face moisturizer.”  

Keith broke into a playful scowl of revulsion, but he couldn’t hide the happy traces of relief woven into his features. Any hint of his gloomy disposition was successfully dismissed, and his normal spark was back in full throttle. Expertly dodging as Lance swiped the fingers coated with moisturizer towards his face, he deftly spun in place and left the room at a brisk pace, flying through the exit like a bat out of hell. Before Lance could even say another word, he was almost at the end of the hallway, back in the direction of his own chamber.

“Maintaining a healthy skin care regiment is not a joke, Keith!!” Lance shouted after him, head sticking out of the doorway, with a completely serious look and absolutely no sign of kidding to be found.

But his words fell on nothing but the shiny, empty castle walls. Keith had already skidded along his heels and darted around a corner, gone from sight. With a pompous huff, Lance shifted his headphones back onto his head, pushed play, and shut the door behind him, already at peace with his lost time. 

 

✧

 

The group of Voltron’s legendary defenders stood in front of a reflective metal wall in the castle’s common area, looking over their own selves as well as each other in their finalized get-ups. It was odd to see themselves so extravagantly made up, but also refreshingly new and somewhat exciting, shining a new light on them all. The team seemed to glow in the setting sun’s almost absent light, the unknown promises of the evening taking form through the elaborate display of their lavish outfits, reminding them at every turn and angle of their heads that in just a few moments, they’d be rushing off not to another usual mission, but to one of the most grandiose, pompous events in the universe…

The notion was thrilling. 

The paladins' completed attires looked as if they were associated with one another, but no two were remotely the same.

Hunk was fashioning a longer white dress robe with buttons all along the front top half, matching white pants, and a strip of silky, flaxen, ornate fabric draped across the chest like a sash. The pristine material was speckled with shining accents of a bright orange thread work that complimented his headband, and when the shimmers of light caught it just the right way, it shone with speckles of gold. His shoes were a dark brown leather boot, decorated with a handmade swirling pattern.  

Lance sported a dashing blue suit jacket, constructed with a sharp set of overlapping lapels and a dramatic coat tail to match. Underneath was a more standard set consisting of a white blouse, tight white vest, and well-tailored black pants that would’ve done perfectly well at a typical Earth wedding. His glossy dress shoes were tipped in silver and shined so much that he could see his own face in them. And to top it all off, a modern blue bowtie was snapped tightly against his crisply pressed shirt collar. 

Keith was wearing the somewhat simple crimson suit that Coran had thrown at him, his unruly hair only a tiny bit sleeker than how it normally was after having Allura run a wet comb through it. The short-trimmed red jacket he had on was lined with intricate gold fabric, complimented by the corresponding red undershirt and pants. The notorious tie remained decidedly absent. Lance shot a warning look at Coran when he began to point it out, shutting him down immediately.

Allura’s garb had the most variety of colors, ranging from a light turquoise and rich indigo gradient into soft pinks and deep, saturated purples. She’d traded her usual tiara for one of her more formal ones, a gold band with aquamarine stones resting in its center, placed at the top of her brow just below her hairline. She had jewelry to match the crown, laden with more stones and even a string of pearls draped from a bracelet to one of her rings. She had a heavier, longer veil over her head that hid most of her hair as well as her ears, along with a more translucent piece of fabric over the bottom half of her face to downplay her Altean markings. The blush she sprouted when the rest of her team saw her for the first time, their jaws dropping in unison, was as red as a freshly cut rose. 

Pidge was adorned in a more modest but still highly elegant dress, with a high collar and long, tight sleeves that came to a point on the tops of her hands just past her wrists. The fabric was a dark maroon, its detailing a darker shade, almost black. She’d taken off Matt’s glasses for the occasion, and worked her hair into a lovely up-do with the help of Allura’s accessories. A series of minute diamond-shaped gold buttons were subtly incorporated into the design, and at the last second, she’d grabbed a sheer, flowing lilac shawl to drape around the crooks of her arms. 

And to round them off, Coran had chosen a regal, dark black, velvety officer’s uniform of some kind, with sparkling shoulder tassels, a polished array of medals, pristine white gloves, and even a fancy glass monocle wedged against one of his eyes. Over the other, he’d fashioned a rather dominating black eye patch in order to disguise himself and hide one of Altean markings, styling his wavy ginger hair in such a way to conceal the other. 

“Not too shabby, guys.” Hunk finally mused aloud, breaking the silence.

“Well, let’s get a move on, folks!” Coran smacked his hands together, setting them into motion before making a final try at snatching Hunk’s headband off of him, but the paladin grinned and wove out of the way just in time. After Allura adjusted Lance's bowtie for good measure, they all began their shuffled descent out of the castle and into the night. 

 

✧

 

So for now, they were lucky. Just a few hours after departing the safety of their Castle of Lions, and they were right on schedule, rolling along in their complementary carriage, sitting upright on their plush cushions, facing one another and making the most of their last few minutes alone. 

“Ok… Remember the plan.” Keith spoke with a determined sensibility, staring down each of his fellow team members. “Once we’re in, we split up to stay inconspicuous, but we still break down into regular sets of two. Don’t be too obvious with one another, but always be aware of where your partner is, and have each other’s backs in case something goes wrong.” 

“Heck yeah, rocking that buddy system!” Hunk whispered, mostly to himself while letting his hand form a minuscule fist pump.

Keith didn’t have to name names. Coran and Allura would exploit their experienced knowledge of the gala by covering the more sidelined social corners of the event, such as the upscale lounges, snazzy bars, and private smoking rooms. Pidge and Hunk would try to infiltrate any blocked off locations they could; backend nooks and crannies unoccupied by guests that would most likely contain waiters or palace guards, if anyone at all. Which left Lance and Keith to feel out the activity in the main ballroom where most of the gala’s patrons would be roaming about, in order to see if they could gain a more substantial lead. 

“Our objective is to find the informant that claims to be selling information regarding the whereabouts of…” Keith took an extra moment, not wanting to lose his drive but stumbling slightly in his spiel nonetheless. 

The team remained intensely focused on him, all ready to jump in and stir their leader on if needed, but Allura was the one to handle the lapse in his speech. 

“Of our missing paladin,” she finished, calmly. Even while covered by her formal face and head veils, she radiated with pure kindness. 

“Yes,” Keith responded while staring back at her, quickly hiding the flash of appreciation in his eyes. “It’s a long shot that what they have to say is true, but if nothing else, we should investigate into their motivations behind making such a claim. See if it gets us any additional leads on the situation.” 

“ _Aaaaaand_ maybe take it upon ourselves to investigate our own motivations to, let’s say, let loose and have a bit of fun, hmm?” Lance chimed in, raising his eyebrows and shooting his fellow teammates a lively smirk. 

A few of them couldn’t help but react with slightly agreeable, slightly energetic, slightly exhilarated grins. But Keith crossed his arms and dug around his head for something to say to keep the team fully fixated on the mission at hand. He succumbed to what he knew best.

“It’s important that we, you know… stay patient to yield focus.” Keith declared, shooting a look specifically intended for Lance. Each member of the crew seemed to have one especially for him. “We don’t want to get caught up in something we can’t handle.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Lance shot back, the edges of his smirk growing sharper as he adjusted his silky blue bowtie. Keith’s eyes rolled. He was fighting an uphill battle and he knew it. And with every inch closer the carriage moved towards the front steps of the palace, the greater the amount of electric, impatient anticipation seemed to buzz throughout the cool evening air around them, threatening to ignite at any moment.

But Lance’s inner excitement certainly couldn’t be contained. It was infectious. All of them — even Keith, although he would never admit it — were yearning to get inside amongst the clamor and festivities. After having lost Shiro, along with their stressful first encounter with Lotor, and still worrying over the next moves of the Galra Empire and how they'll work in the new team lineup, a night out at an expensive party filled with food and dancing and tangible escapism was too tantalizing to ignore. Looking around at one another one final time, their restless gazes locked with each of their fellow crew mates' as the music ahead grew louder and louder. All of them were glistening like royalty in their formalwear attire, and there was a definite kind of splendid glow mixed in with hopeful energy for what the prospective evening might bring them.... They were going to blend in just fine.

And with that, their carriage came to a stop. The side door swung open automatically, and a skinny little ladder rolled out for them to step down on. One by one, they emerged from the coach, all six of them standing in a row and gaping upwards at the biggest, longest staircase any of them had ever seen, a royal blue carpet strewn across its steps, leading straight up to the large set of opened front doors and into the massive palace. A warm light shone from the inside, illuminating their faces, beckoning them from within, promising to provide them, if nothing else, with a night to remember.

Without another glance, Keith was the first to move forward, and together they made their way inside. 

 


End file.
